


Parsnip

by Tysolna



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, MJN Air, MJN Air Is A Family, do not mess with MJN, revenge is a dish best served cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: Arthur stood inside the cabin, his customary cheerful manner completely absent. His eyes were red, his body bent to shelter a bundle wrapped in one of the galley's dishcloths clutched to his chest, and he was very slightly rocking on his feet, heel to toe and back.

Arthur's childhood friend is injured, and it's all Fitton ground crew's fault. Douglas comes to the rescue. The flight crew plots revenge, and some surprising secrets are revealed. 
They may be a family that fights like cats, but when one of MJN's own is threatened, beware.





	

“Arthur? Arthur, what's wrong?”

Martin stepped out of the flight deck where he been sorting the manuals. G-ERTI had just been through the annual aircraft maintenance check, and the ground crew at Fitton always took pains to rearrange things on the flight deck because they knew how annoyed Martin would be by it, while still remaining in the area of “good-natured ribbing”.

Arthur stood inside the cabin, his customary cheerful manner completely absent. His eyes were red, his body bent to shelter a bundle wrapped in one of the galley's dishcloths clutched to his chest, and he was very slightly rocking on his feet, heel to toe and back.

Martin recognised distress when he saw it, and Arthur's distress was even more glaring for being so utterly unusual. Arthur hadn't even noticed Martin speak to him, and Martin was getting frightened.

“Arthur?” Martin reached out to gently place a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “Arthur, please, what happened?”

Arthur sniffed and looked up. “No... nothing, Skip”, he stammered, while a tear rolled down his cheek. He pressed the bundle even tighter to his chest. Martin was starting to worry that that dishcloth contained a dead bird, or a hurt animal; he couldn't think of anything else that would get Arthur into such a state. After all, he remembered how distraught Arthur had been for weeks after watching “Bambi”.

“I'm, I'm fine, Skip, really... please, Skip?” Arthur looked at Martin with big, wet, trusting puppy eyes, and Martin felt his heart break a little.

 

Martin wasn't really very good in situations like these, but as Arthur rocked forward again, he couldn't help but draw him into a hug, careful not to squash whatever it was Arthur was carrying. Instantly, Martin had his arms full of sobbing Arthur. He awkwardly patted Arthur's back, while Arthur cried and hiccuped and talked.

“Don't tell mum, please, Skip? Only she told me to keep Pa... Parsnip to myself but then I had to get him from where I hi... hid him in the galley when the ground crew came in for the mainten...tenance check and they saw him and sta... started laughing and I... I had to defend Parsnip and that made them laugh even more, and Phil said... Phil said...”

Arthur paused to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and noisily blow his nose. Martin tried to make sense of what Arthur was saying (and, he was ashamed to admit, hoping Arthur's tears wouldn't permanently stain his uniform; he really couldn't afford a new one). His mind hitched on one thing.

 “Arthur?” Martin asked gently. “Who is Parsnip?” He was sure that whatever the parsnip was that Arthur was cradling to his chest, it wasn't a vegetable. He hoped it wasn't a puppy either, flying with a live animal in the galley was against all regulations. No wonder Carolyn would not want it on board, let alone have Douglas or Martin find out.

Arthur drew a large breath and swallowed. “Parsnip is... is... look...” He drew back and unwrapped the dishcloth so Martin could see what it contained. At the sight of it Arthur moaned softly, while Martin was struck speechless, surprised by what Arthur held. There, in the cradle of Arthur's arm, was a pale yellow fluffy teddy bear, obviously much-loved, and equally obviously recently mauled. A stitch had burst, stuffing protruding from it, an eye had been torn out, and a leg was dangling limply from the body.

Martin was shocked. “Phil did this?” He felt outraged on Arthur's behalf. Compared to this, re-arranging the flight deck manuals was nothing.

Arthur hesitated, then nodded. “Phil said this must be G-ERTI's mascot because it's just as old and worn like her but I said no, Parsnip's mine, and they all laughed and asked if I wasn't too old for a teddy bear but I'm not, Skip, I've had Parsnip all my life and he's been on all of G-ERTI's flights with me and he always listens to me when I tell him about the places we've been to or what happened there even when everyone else gets bored and I used to think he talks back but I know it's just a teddy bear but it was nice when he talked back when I was younger and why should I leave Parsnip behind only because I'm 30 now but Phil and George and Tom just laughed and grabbed Parsnip and threw him around and now he's torn and he's lost an eye and _Skiiiiiip_...”

Arthur sobbed and leaned into Martin's shoulder again, once more overcome by sadness, while holding and stroking the bear like the wounded friend it was.

Martin was quietly furious. How _dare_ they! Joking on the airfield was one thing, and MJN was certainly not the most respected airline in the history of aviation, but to taunt a member of the crew like this! To reduce Arthur, the kindest, happiest person Martin had ever known, to a heartbroken, crying mess was way out of line. How supposedly professional men could turn into a handful of bullies was beyond him.

And then Martin thought of Bristol, his old teddy bear that he'd named after the aeroplane company, the one his mum had made a little captain's uniform for, the one he'd told all his secrets and wishes to – the one which still sat on his bedside table, watching over him every night he spent in his little attic room. He imagined how he would feel if bullies came to his house, laughed about his bear, then tore it apart, and he held Arthur closer, trying to comfort him as best he could.

 

A very pointed clearing of a throat interrupted Martin's musings, followed by the ever-so-slightly mocking tones of Douglas Richardson. “I didn't know this was a private party. Shall I leave the two of you alone for a little longer?”

In any other circumstance, Martin would have blushed at the insinuation in Douglas' voice. Now, however, he looked at Douglas with barely hidden anger while Arthur tried to burrow further into his shoulder. Douglas studied the scene with raised eyebrows. Suddenly serious, he asked, “Is Arthur all right? What happened?”

Arthur sniffled into Martin's shoulder and muttered, “... they broke Parsnip...”

Douglas instantly stepped forward to put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “What? Who did this? Who broke Parsnip, Arthur?”

Martin frowned. “You know about Parsnip?” he asked, confused.

“Of course I do, Martin”, Douglas replied while he patted Arthur's shoulder. “Who do you think helps Arthur hide the bear when passengers or inspectors come on board. One time, we flew all the way to Stockholm and back with Parsnip asleep under your seat.” He winked at Martin, and Martin swallowed any comments about bears under seats not being regulation that sounded petty even to him.

“So, Arthur”, continued Douglas, “let me see your friend, and tell me who dared lay a hand on him.”

Arthur calmed down in the face of reassuring, fatherly Douglas. He extricated himself from Martin's embrace, sat down, and recounted the events. After he finished, Douglas crouched down before Arthur and held out a hand. Arthur visibly steeled himself and slowly unwrapped the bear.

“Oh, Arthur”, Douglas sighed as he saw the damage done to the beloved toy. Gently, he lifted Parsnip out of Arthur's arms and turned it around to inspect it, being careful of the bear's injuries. With a sigh, he put it back into the tea towel. Arthur immediately wrapped Parsnip up again.

“Right”, Douglas said. “Don't worry, Arthur. I have a friend who used to be a toy maker.” Of course, Martin thought. “She can fix Parsnip and make him as good as new.”

For the first time since Martin stepped out of the flight deck, Arthur brightened. “Really?” he quavered.

“Really.” Douglas smiled at Arthur. He turned to Martin and his face darkened. “But we cannot let the guys get away with hurting your friend. Let's go to the office, have a cup of tea, calm down and plot our revenge.”

 

Once they were safely ensconced in the office – well, the portacabin that was MJN's office – and had their hands wrapped around steaming mugs of tea, that most British of panaceas, Douglas began.

“So, Arthur, it was Phil, George and Tom who did this, right?” Arthur nodded. “Good”, Douglas said, “and I happen to know that all three of them have their little secret too. A secret that is just as old and beloved as Parsnip.” Arthur leaned closer, and Martin did his best not to do the same.

“Phil for instance cannot work on an engine without wearing his lucky shirt.” Martin raised an eyebrow. “You would not see it”, Douglas continued, “he wears it under his work clothes, but I noticed a few times... Well never mind how, but it is an old ABBA tour t-shirt, almost threadbare, but he rarely takes it off. It has Dancing Queen written on it.”

“Really?” Martin laughed. “Oh dear... Phil wears a Dancing Queen shirt?”

Douglas nodded. “Really. Now George, big, strong George, can never be found without a piece of his old baby blanket in his pocket. And Tom has a lucky rabbit's foot, supersticious fool that he is. Arthur, how would you like to get back to Phil, George and Tom, knowing they all have something as dear to them as Parsnip is to you?”

Martin wondered the same. If it were him in Arthur's shoes, what would he do? Expose their secrets to the rest of Fitton Airport? Remind them that people who sat in glass houses should not throw stones? Quote regulations at them? He scoffed at himself. He knew himself well enough that he would do precisely nothing. He felt Douglas's knowing look on him and blushed.

Arthur sat, contemplating. “But I don't want to do to them what they did to me, that would make me no better than them.”

Douglas nodded. “I'm not saying we should cut up Phil's shirt or break Tom's rabbit foot, but I still think we need to teach them a lesson after what they did to Parsnip.” Martin knew that Douglas had already decided what to do, but was giving Arthur the chance to arrive at the same thought.

“Maybe”, Arthur said slowly, “maybe we can just... take their things away? For as long as it takes for your friend to fix Parsnip and get him back to me?”

Douglas looked at Arthur proudly. “I think this is an excellent idea, Arthur. Let's do precisely that.”

“But how?” Martin asked. “We can't just go up to them and tell them to hand their lucky things over?”

“Oh, no, Martin, we'll have to be a lot sneaker than that!” Douglas grinned. “Leave that to me, I'll have all three things in the morning.”

 

True to his word, when MJN's little crew assembled in the portacabin the next day, there was a cardboard box on the table, and when Arthur lifted the lid, he found an old t-shirt, a piece of blanket, and a rabbit's foot. He looked at Douglas as if he were made of rainbows and glitter. “That's brilliant! How did you do that, Douglas!”

Douglas preened. “Easy, really. Phil has to take his shirt off when he showers, and pockets are easy to pick if you know how.”

Martin secretly added pickpocketing to the list of skills Douglas was surprisingly good at, and made a mental note to keep an even better watch on his belongings. He looked down at his hand which was bearing his father's signet ring, and wondered what he would do if he ever lost it, and to what lengths he'd go to get it back. He hoped he'd never have to find out.

Meanwhile, Douglas continued. “I've taken your bear to my friend, she'll have Parsnip back to you within the week. Until then, we can all enjoy the discomfort of his tormentors while they are denied their happy things the same way that you are denied Parsnip.” Douglas leaned back in his chair, satisfied with the world. “This should be fun.”

 

After a few days, Martin had to agree that it was indeed fun. Every time MJN had a stop-over in Fitton, they would ask the ground crew to come and check G-ERTI over – given the age of the plane, there was always something wrong – and every time they watched as three grown men were suddenly a lot more insecure than usual. Martin and Douglas compared notes. Both of them had noticed that George and Tom both made strange, abortive motions as if reaching for something and then remembering that what they were reaching for wasn't there. Douglas had noticed that Phil seemed reluctant to touch any engine, let alone do any repairs on it. Arthur was amazed.

“You know”, he confided in Martin and Douglas one day while they were en route from Fitton to Prague, cabin full of an already-inebriated stag party, “I really, really like Parsnip. He's been my friend for a long time. But”, his voice dropped to a whisper, “I don't need Parsnip with me to make me feel safe on the plane, or, or make tea or serve drinks to the passengers. That would be really silly, wouldn't it?”

Douglas smiled. “And that, Arthur, is why you are actually a lot more grown-up than the ground crew at Fitton.”  
  
Arthur looked gobsmacked. “You really think so?”

Without looking up from the plane's instruments, Martin nodded in agreement. “Absolutely, Arthur.” He swallowed, then ploughed on. “I have a bear too, he's called Bristol, and he sits next to my bed...”

“That's brilliant, Skip!” Arthur interrupted. “I didn't know that!”

“Not many people do, Arthur, and please keep it between ourselves, all right?” Martin was already regretting telling Arthur, or rather, telling Arthur in the presence of Douglas. But then, Douglas surprised both of them.

“I don't have a bear,” he said, “but I do have this...” He dug inside his trouser pocket and produced a circle of dark blue fabric with a pattern of silver stars on it. Martin raised his eyebrows. “A scrunchy?” he asked incredulously.

“A scrunchy”, Douglas confirmed. “A little girl gave it to me on my first flight. It was her first flight too, but she said I looked nervous – don't grin, Martin, and don't tell me that you weren't nervous when you were first behind the controls, you still are – so she gave it to me because she said it made her feel good to look at the pattern and she liked the feel of the fabric She thought I could use it more than she, and that when I got nervous I should take it out and look at it so it would make me feel good too. I kept it as a reminder. I wonder where she is now.”

Arthur stared at Douglas with wide eyes and an open-mouthed grin. “That is... brillant! Ooh, I think we should have a box of scrunches on board to give out to people who are nervous fliers, that would take their mind off being scared!”

Just when you thought Arthur showed maturity, Martin thought ruefully. He could just imagine Arthur push his drinks trolley through the cabin with a box of scrunchies on top.

“Let's not be hasty, Arthur”, Douglas said. “I don't think Carolyn would want to cover the expenses for passenger scrunchies.”

“Oh, right, yes”, Arthur said, “Mum wouldn't. She's already told me not to serve someone twice, even if they ask! One drink per passenger.” He sighed with indignation. “Speaking of which, gents, coffee? Tea?”

 

By the time they had returned from Prague, had decanted the cabin of hung-over post-stag party, and returned to Fitton, Parsnip had been repaired and sat in a box in MJN's portacabin. All injuries had been treated, the fur had been gently washed and combed. It looked not like it had been at the toy hospital, but on a relaxing holiday. Arthur was beside himself with joy.

Next to Parsnip's box was the cardboard box with the ground crew's belongings. “We'll have to give them back now, Douglas”, Arthur said.

“Yeees”, Douglas drawled, “but let's make sure they know why they had to spend this time without their things, shall we?”He produced three strung paper luggage tags. “Any particular message you would like me to convey?”

“How about, Touch us and face the consequences?” Martin clearly had not forgiven them for messing with his flight deck.

Arthur warmed to the idea. “That's for messing with Parsnip, you little rotters, and don't ever do it again or Douglas will come for your things again and then we won't give them back ever!”

Douglas considered this. “I think it is a little too long to fit onto the tag, don't you? How about, Greetings from MJN?”

“Perfect!” Arthur exclaimed.

Douglas turned to Martin. “What about it, Martin, think that will do?”

Martin grinned. “I think it will, Douglas.”

 

The next morning, Phil found his shirt, George his blanket piece, and Tom his rabbit foot, all wrapped in brown paper and with a luggage tag on it reading, “Greetings from MJN.” Douglas had written a note to each of the men on the other side of the tag to personalise the safe return of the items. He never told Arthur and Martin, but from now on the Fitton ground crew treated MJN with utmost professionality and respect.

 

MJN's next flight was to Mallorca. Carolyn had decided she needed some warmth and sunshine, but her face darkened to a thunderstorm when she stepped on the flight deck and saw Parsnip sitting on the console between her two pilots.

“What is this?” she scowled. “Arthur? Arthur! Have I not told you to keep Parsnip out of sight on flights? Arthur!”

“Now, now, Carolyn”, Douglas tried to placate his boss. “Parsnip is the hero of the day and deserves special treatment.”

Arthur stepped into the flight deck and hurriedly tried to pick up Parsnip, but Douglas took his arm and shook his head. “I was just about to tell your mother how Parsnip sustained injuries in the line of duty, and how his bravery has single-handedly given MJN the respect of Fitton's ground crew. Carolyn, have a seat. Arthur, why don't you help me tell the story?”

While Douglas and Arthur took turns to recount the tale of Parsnip and the revenge on Fitton's ground crew, and Carolyn's scowl was soon replaced by a grin and then laughter, Martin smiled to himself and flew G-ERTI into the sunset.

Or at least to Mallorca.


End file.
